


winner take all

by queertitan



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode 44, M/M, implied Aomine/Kise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2351927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queertitan/pseuds/queertitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine teaches Kuroko to shoot, and Kuroko teaches him how to lose. An alternate take on episode 44.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winner take all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doomquasar](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=doomquasar).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SIMONE.  
> this is a college AU that follows the canon timeline, except teiko = high school and seirin/touou = college. if you're the sort of person who likes to jam to sweet tunes while they read, there's a playlist for this fic [here](http://8tracks.com/clockworkmax/come-back-home)! I'm on tumblr [here](http://fakeandroid.tumblr.com/).

The ball rattles around the rim of the hoop for a long moment before it falls, reluctantly, through the net. Aomine snags it as it bounces off the court.

“Not bad, Tetsu!”

Kuroko lowers his arms slowly, trying to memorize the angle of the shot. He’s still a little startled when his shots make it through the hoop, as uncertain as they are in the air, but he’s beginning to get it right. Not every time—but often enough.

He would be better off if he weren’t distracted.

Tonight, Aomine seems to have a hard time letting go of the ball once it’s in his hands; he tosses it carelessly over his shoulder, spinning around to watch the high arc of the ball as it sails through the hoop, then catches it again and jogs back to aim another shot. The sun is going down, deep shadows spreading under his shoes, deeper even than the shadows under his eyes. But Aomine doesn’t need to see the hoop to know exactly where to throw.

Which is why he isn’t the one who should be practicing his shots. “Aomine-kun.” Aomine pauses, the ball almost out of his grip, and glances in Kuroko’s direction. Kuroko holds out his hands. “Pass.”

Aomine scowls and throws the ball at him. Kuroko catches it and pivots, forcing himself to shoot without hesitation; he has to learn to aim quickly, to move on instinct more than calculation, until his body and mind are synchronized.

But he’s thinking about the look in Aomine’s eyes, and the ball ricochets off the rim.

-

Even Kuroko doesn’t understand it.

They fight. They’ll always fight. Aomine is abrasive, bone-headed, rude in a way that itches at Kuroko’s usual calm like a rash, making him irritated and childish. Aomine’s talent only makes him more annoying, because his skills highlight his shortcomings. His personality. His aloofness. His apathy.

Kuroko remembers kicking Aomine in the shins for mocking Kise’s first magazine spread, because Aomine was too dense to notice—that for once in his life—Kise was desperate for someone’s approval. He remembers Aomine dragging him to the pool to stare at the girls in their swimsuits and accidentally turning around and knocking Kuroko into the water when he forgot about him. He remembers grabbing Aomine’s ankle and dragging him into the pool, and the girls laughing at them. He remembers sticking his popsicle down the back of Aomine’s sweater.

And he remembers Aomine’s sticky fingers catching the hem of his shirt. He remembers realizing that for all the time Aomine spent staring at boobs in magazines, he also spent a lot of time hanging out at Kuroko’s house for no reason at all, after walking him home after dinner after practice after they spent all day at school together. He remembers realizing that he never really got tired of Aomine being there, as much Kuroko’s shadow as Kuroko was his.

He doesn’t understand the heat that still settles in his chest when Aomine is close. How he always fails to tune Aomine out.

He doesn’t understand, but the look in Aomine’s eyes is precious to him. Not so much his smile, although Kuroko misses how warm it used to be. But the brightness of his eyes—the focus, the joy in them. When Seirin beat Touou and they stood face to face on the court again, Aomine’s eyes were wide and young, and Kuroko recognized them for the first time in years.

-

The ball sails back toward the two of them, and Aomine jumps to catch it. His feet barely touch the ground before he’s up again, his movements lean and effortless as he makes another perfect shot.

Kuroko gives in. It’s all too easy to stop and watch him; Kuroko doesn’t know the last time he saw Aomine practice like this. He’s actually _practicing_ , circling back to take the same shot again, watching the angle of its descent. The last time Kuroko heard of Aomine’s training regimen, it mostly consisted of scoring enough points to remind the rest of the team that he was their star player, and then disappearing until the next time Momoi dragged him back.

He hadn’t know if he’d ever see Aomine snap into focus again.

Aomine plays obliviously for a few minutes before he notices that Kuroko isn’t demanding ownership of the ball anymore. This time, when his shot falls through the hoop and smacks on the court below, Aomine straightens and lets the ball roll away. “What?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Getting tired?”

He is, but he imagines that Aomine must be worse off, running on a sleepless night after the first loss of his life. “Aren’t you tired, Aomine-kun?”

Aomine snorts, but he doesn’t deny it. “Not like it matters,” he mutters. “Do I have anything better to do?”

“We can stop, if you’re tired.”

Aomine bristles. “Oi, you’re the one who wanted to practice! Make up your mind!”

Kuroko watches him for a moment. He doesn’t have Riko’s eye for injuries, but it’s easy to see that Aomine’s teetering, exhausted. _But knowing Aomine-_ _kun, he’s still bursting with energy._ Aomine has always had the capacity for laziness, but at Teiko he was just as capable of ignoring his limits— practicing for hours past the point of fatigue, as if he didn’t even notice the sweat running down his face, only to sleep through class the next day.

Kuroko considers pushing on. Time is precious before the next game; he needs to improve, for Seirin’s sake. But he knows this distraction won’t go away, and he can’t bring himself to ignore it.

_There’s always tomorrow._

“Let’s have dinner, Aomine-kun.”

“Huh?”

“I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”

-

Kuroko remembers these moments, too. He remembers the silences they could sink into on the way home from practice, eating on opposite sides of a booth, and how sometimes Aomine would accidentally bump his ankles against Kuroko’s feet and didn’t seem to mind if they stayed touching.

If they had seats side by side, Aomine would always wind up resting his arm on the back of Kuroko’s chair, a gesture that didn’t feel possessive so much as it felt natural. If they sat together on the bus, Aomine would splay out and take up half of Kuroko’s seat, as if Kuroko weren’t occupying it, mindless of how their knees pressed together. And if Aomine felt like dozing, he wouldn’t hesitate to let his head drop onto Kuroko’s shoulder like a bag of bricks, or fall asleep with his cheek pressed against Kuroko’s hair.

It was often quiet. Neither of them much cared to talk when there was nothing that needed saying out loud.

-

They get burgers and milkshakes, and it’s like high school again; Kuroko eats methodically and watches Aomine cram a small army’s worth of hamburgers into his mouth. Up close, Kuroko can see the bags under Aomine’s eyes from his sleepless night, and imagines the stiff weariness settling into Aomine’s limbs. He can almost feel it himself, just from watching him.

Even so, Aomine tries to buy dinner. He insists on it over Kuroko’s protests, though he won’t say why he’s insisting. He gets as far as trying to pay at the register, where the flustered cashier has to explain to him that Kuroko already paid, half an hour before.

“I was trying to tell you,” Kuroko sighs. “Didn’t you notice me get up to pay, Aomine-kun?”

“No! When the hell did you go anywhere?”

“Half an hour ago.”

Aomine groans and shoves the restaurant’s door open ahead of him, holding it open for Kuroko to slip through. “You don’t owe me,” he mumbles. “I owe you.”

 

For what, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. “You don’t owe me anything, Aomine-kun.”

“Tetsu...”

Kuroko looks up at him as they fall into step. Aomine seems like he’s going to say something else, but doesn’t.

So, after a few minutes, Kuroko asks. “Did you want to tell me something?”

“Shut up. I’m getting to it.” Aomine stares up at the streetlights as they walk. He’s silent for a moment longer. Then, “Thanks.”

Kuroko smiles. “It’s fine, Aomine-kun.”

“Yeah, sure it is.” Aomine rolls his shoulders, heaves an enormous breath. “Nah... I take it back. I feel like shit, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry, but you still can’t take it back.”

“Shut the hell up,” Aomine elbows him, or tries to. Kuroko ducks out of the way, and Aomine swipes at empty air. “Ugh—I’m going crazy.”

Kuroko sidles back and bumps his elbow against Aomine’s side. “You wanted to lose.”

Aomine grimaces. “Yeah. Cause I didn’t know what it’s like.”

“Aren’t you glad you learned?”

“Didn’t realize it’d mean wanting to win again.”

The kind of wanting that hurts. The kind of wanting that feels like glass lodged under his ribs. Kuroko knows. “You will.”

“Yeah, course I will.” But Aomine doesn’t relax, and Kuroko can see that it’s eating him, the pent-up energy still rolling through his exhausted body. If he goes home, will he sleep tonight?

This doesn’t seem like the right moment—but maybe they’re past the point of having perfect opportunities. Maybe this is good enough. Kuroko’s fingers flex at his side, and then he gives in. He reaches out.

-

Usually he didn’t need to reach far to find Aomine. Aomine always caught his passes; always hung around, even when Kuroko didn’t expect him to want to, whether it was for one-on-one practice or for an evening homework session. Or Kuroko’s seventeenth birthday, after everyone else had finally gone home—after even Kise had been persuaded to leave, albeit after being escorted to the front door. Aomine stayed, sprawled on the floor and looking through all of Kuroko’s birthday presents to confirm that his had been the best. He stayed around Kuroko like he belonged there.

Until he didn’t.

Kuroko didn’t notice at first, the way Aomine lost focus. Stayed at home more often, or went out alone. Still appeared when they needed him for games, but barely showed his face. And then when he did turn up to live out his old routines with Kuroko, their comfortable silence was stale and tense. It was full of questions Kuroko wanted to ask, but didn’t.

Kuroko broke away first, knowing there was nothing he could do at Teiko, nothing without Aomine to help him teach the others a lesson. And he didn’t think Aomine would believe him if he said that he was coming back—so he didn’t.

But it’s always been in the back of his mind. He left because he needed to come back.

-

He curls his fingers around Aomine’s wrist. “Aomine-kun.”

Aomine stops, as sharp as if he’d been shocked. It’s the most Kuroko’s touched him in a long time.

It’s familiar.

“Do you remember when you used to get restless,” Kuroko says, holding onto his wrist—not so firmly that Aomine couldn’t pull away, but firmly enough that Aomine will know he’s serious. “How I helped you calm down?”

Aomine’s flush is answer enough; his wrist goes stiff in Kuroko’s grip. When he speaks his voice is low, rough. “Yeah.”

Kuroko takes a deep breath. “Do you want to do that again?”

“Do _you?_ ”

“Obviously.”

Aomine turns, studying him in the glow of the streetlights. Kuroko lets go of his wrist, then, starts to draw back his hand. He doesn’t get far. Aomine grabs his fingers before they can slip away, and lurches forward, like the brush of their fingers is a momentum he can’t resist—he grabs the back of his neck, and jerks Kuroko up to his tiptoes as he kisses him.

Kuroko’s head spins, something like relief spilling warm into his chest. But then he slips out of Aomine’s grasp, retreating a few paces. “I didn’t say you could kiss me in the middle of the sidewalk. I haven’t changed that much.”

Aomine stares at him for a moment, then lets his arms flop back to his sides and straightens with a sigh. “Yeah, that’s right. _Nothing public._ ”

“I don’t like to involve other people in this, Aomine-kun.”

“This,” Aomine mumbles. He can’t seem to take his eyes off Kuroko. “Kinda thought this was over.”

“It was.” Kuroko takes a step forward, back into the space they’ve always easily shared with each other. The way Aomine watches him is familiar enough to sent a slow shiver running down his spine.

 

“You sure?” Aomine asks.

“Yes. I would like to, if you want me to.”

“Fuck, of course I do.” Aomine’s fingers make nervous fists, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I, uh—I got a single dorm, if you wanna come over.”

Kuroko nods.

Aomine looks like he has questions—and this is sudden, Kuroko thinks, for both of them—but he doesn’t ask them. Instead he starts walking, and when Kuroko catches up, slings an arm around his shoulders—weight warm and heavy, and familiar.

-

Aomine’s dorm is cramped and painfully disorganized, and most of his belongings are arranged in piles on the floor, but at least he has it to himself. Kuroko delicately moves a stack of well-worn gravure magazines onto the floor and sits on the edge of Aomine’s bed. It smells like him—like rubber soles and soft, worn clothes and too much body spray.

Aomine hangs back in the doorway, staring at the piles of clothes and unread textbooks on the floor like he halfway wants to clean up. Then he shrugs and strips off his jacket, tossing it on the floor as he ambles over to Kuroko. Pauses in front of him, like he’s waiting for his cue.

“Come here,” Kuroko says.

Aomine smirks then, easy, dropping to his knees and pressing in between Kuroko’s legs. Even kneeling, he barely has to lean up to reach Kuroko’s mouth. When he kisses Kuroko, it’s slow, but hungry. Kuroko appreciates his restraint; it doesn’t come naturally to Aomine to hold back. The first time they kissed he was sloppy and impatient, nearly knocking their teeth together. Till Kuroko gripped his shoulders and forced him to steady, to focus—to pay attention to how it felt.

Now he shifts forward, letting his knees frame Aomine’s hips, letting Aomine press hot against his chest and run his hands along Kuroko’s thighs, always grabbing and holding on—always twisting his fingers in Kuroko’s hair, squeezing his ass, cupping Kuroko’s face in his palms and kissing like he wants to swallow him up. He shudders when Kuroko’s fingers brush along his neck, settling on his shoulders and pushing him back.

“Aomine-kun.” He’s short of breath, and Aomine’s eyes are hot and hard. “Stand up, please.”

“Got a plan for me, huh?” Aomine plants his hands on his knees, shoves himself to his feet. He towers, but Kuroko doesn’t mind; he’s always felt comfortable in Aomine’s shadow.

He goes for the waistband of Aomine’s slacks, unbuttons them—" _Fuck_ yeah,” Aomine groans, his neck arching as Kuroko slides his mouth down Aomine’s cock.

It’s not that Kuroko loves giving blowjobs, although he doesn’t mind. But it’s satisfying to give them for the same reason it’s satisfying to guess what Aomine’s going to say or do the moment before he does it. Because it’s a way of knowing how well he knows Aomine, how intimately, that in moments Aomine is breathing hard, swaying on his feet, gripping at Kuroko’s shoulders for purchase. How, when Kuroko hooks his arms around Aomine’s thighs and takes his cock deeper, Aomine breathes his name, “ _Tetsu_ ,” half strangled and half wondering.

Kuroko doesn’t draw it out, because that isn’t really the point.

“Fuck, Tetsu, you’re gonna make me come—”

 _Obviously_ , Kuroko thinks. And he does.

Aomine moans loud enough to disturb their neighbors, if they have any. But this isn’t quite public, and Kuroko can’t blame him.

“Fuck,” Aomine mutters, as Kuroko wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and sits back. “I missed—uh.” He hesitates long enough for Kuroko to understand. “Missed that.”

“Do you want me to keep going?” Kuroko asks.

Aomine grins, like it’s a challenge, because he’ll make it a challenge no matter what Kuroko says. “Yeah, what do you think?”

“All right.” Kuroko shifts down on the bed, making room for Aomine to join him, and pulls his shirt over his head. “Undress, and lie on your back, please.”

“Forgot how you’re so straightforward,” Aomine says. “It’s kinda nice.” He strips off his shirt and kicks his slacks and underwear down around his ankles—leaving them on the floor where they will probably stay for weeks, which Kuroko tries not to think about. Then he flops over on his back, naked with one leg splayed over the edge of the bed, folding his arms behind his head. He’s largely without shame. Kuroko’s glad to see that hasn’t changed.

“Do you have lotion?” Kuroko asks.

“What, didn’t come prepared?” Aomine jeers, nudging Kuroko with one of his feet. He’s still wearing his socks. “Lucky I’ve got condoms.”

“I wasn’t planning this, Aomine-kun.”

“Guess it’d be weird if you were, right?” Aomine slings an arm out to pull open a drawer in his bedside table, half-sitting up to rifle through it. In the mean time, Kuroko grabs Aomine’s ankles and pulls off his socks, dropping them on top of his discarded boxers. “Here,” Aomine says, tossing him a package of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Kuroko doesn’t ask about the condoms. He’s seen enough of how Kise eyes Aomine after a game to know, and it isn’t his business anyway. He uncaps the lube, crawling up between Aomine’s spread legs and resting his palm on Aomine’s stomach as his other hand drops down, slippery fingers coaxing him open. He feels the muscles in Aomine’s stomach shift, hears him exhale.

-

It never took any pressure on Kuroko’s part to get Aomine used to the idea of being fucked, not that Kuroko wanted to pressure him. Kuroko only suggested it, one day when he was half out of uniform, straddling Aomine’s thighs in Aomine’s bed in the sticky heat of summer, when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He wanted to know what it would be like to change places—to be the one who took control. And so the question finally tumbled out of his mouth.

Aomine said, “Huh?” and Kuroko repeated himself, slowly. “Yeah, heard you.” Aomine spent a moment frowning at the ceiling, uncharacteristically deep in thought. Then he gave a little shrug and his shoulders loosened. His cock was hard when he rolled his hips up against Kuroko’s thigh. “Sure,” he said.

Kuroko hadn’t expected him to be so casual. “Are you sure, Aomine-kun?”

“Yeah,” Aomine said, and Kuroko wondered if he’d thought about it, too. “Fuck. Why not?”

 _Why not?_ A part of Kuroko wondered if he was enough for Aomine—strong enough, big enough. There would be something missing, he thought, and they would go back to sleeping together the way they had started, Kuroko riding him or sprawled out under him with his legs around Aomine’s waist.

But the missing piece clicked into place when Aomine wrapped his arms around Kuroko’s neck—sweat on his brow, body tight tight tight around him—pulled him in close and breathed, “Oh fuck, Tetsu,” hoarse and choked with something Kuroko had never heard in his voice before.

-

Aomine always takes a moment to let Kuroko’s orders sink in, even the simple ones. Like he needs a moment to make sure he understands, to test out the weight of that limitation in his mind. So when Kuroko says, “I want you to put your hands above your head and keep them there until I say so,” he isn’t concerned when Aomine is slow to respond. He rolls on the condom while Aomine thinks about it, and shifts forward to press his cock against Aomine’s slick entrance as Aomine begins stretching his arms out above his head, clasping his hands together where they rest in the sheets.

Kuroko slides his palms up the backs of Aomine’s thighs, pushing his legs up and out of the way while he presses inside him. Aomine swallows, his face flushed, head tilted up to watch Kuroko maneuver him into position; his legs tremble, muscles taut to keep his body in alignment.

“Are you all right, Aomine-kun?”

“M’good,” Aomine says. So Kuroko leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Aomine’s chest and kissing him. Aomine’s breath shudders through his teeth from the strain of lifting his head without moving his hands, but Kuroko doesn’t bend down to his level, doesn’t take pity on him yet. Aomine will want to struggle, want to fail. Sure enough, the first time Kuroko thrusts into him, Aomine gives up, letting his head thump back onto the bed with a low groan. “ _Shit._ ” He rocks his hips back, but he has no real leverage. It’s a helpless position, and one that forces Aomine to work to stay helpless, gripping the sheets with shaking hands and hitching his legs up around Kuroko’s waist.

-

He didn’t need to be rough or strong, Kuroko realized. Aomine didn’t want to be bullied, and being shoved around only made him bristle and push back. All Aomine wanted was to give up, but he needed something he could run up against, that gave him a reason to surrender. On the court, in the game, he kept hunting for his own limits—a wall he would hit that would finally, finally make him struggle again. Kuroko couldn’t be his wall, and at the time it seemed that no one could.

But Kuroko could impose a different kind of order on Aomine. And a gentle hand worked as well as anything else, as long as he could give Aomine a limit that he couldn’t reach. _Don’t come_ , he could say, and then tease Aomine until he broke, spilling hot into Kuroko’s hand. _Don’t move_ , he could say, and Aomine would try, until his patience ran dry and he couldn’t take holding still. Kuroko was always calmer, steadier, and Aomine always gave in first.

-

He’s so focused on Aomine, Kuroko doesn’t remember how good it feels until they find a rhythm together, till he’s fucking Aomine slow and shallow and bracing his hands on Aomine’s chest, pushing him down with every thrust and feeling the deep, ragged breaths he’s taking. It’s almost too much, to stay aware of himself while Aomine is moving under him, so big and so warm.

“Tetsu—”

“Yes, Aomine-kun?” He can hear the edge in his own voice, feel the sweat dripping down the curve of his back, but he forces his tone to stay even.  
Aomine’s sheets are bunched up in his hands, and he can barely lift his head. “You look so fucking good,” he says, grinning, laughing as he gasps for breath. “You got even hotter, you know?” In reply, Kuroko pinches one of his nipples. “ _Ow_ —”

“Thank you, Aomine-kun.”

“Asshole,” Aomine pants.

He doesn’t push Kuroko to go faster. He takes and takes, as much as he can. Eventually his legs start to weaken from the strain of the position, slipping down to rest against the bed. Kuroko grips the back of his thigh and pushes his leg up toward his chest again. “You can use your hands now, Aomine-kun. Hold your legs for me.”

“Fuck,” Aomine says, but he does it, and raises his head obediently when Kuroko leans forward for another kiss. He pulls his legs up higher, deepening the angle of Kuroko’s thrusts, and the sound he makes into Kuroko’s mouth is animal and desperate. “You better get off soon,” he snaps, when Kuroko draws back, and Kuroko can see he’s at his limit.

“I will,” Kuroko says, because this means that he wins. Again.

He wraps his hand around Aomine’s cock and jerks, slow but tight—six strokes, seven before Aomine gasps and tenses _hard_ , rocking against Kuroko mindlessly until Kuroko gives in too. It feels like surfacing suddenly from too long underwater, sweet relief and air burning in his lungs. He slumps forward, light-headed, and Aomine’s arms are around him, rolling him over and holding him.

-

Kuroko never understood exactly why Aomine didn’t resent him for being so limited. He was small; he wasn’t the best player, or the fastest, or the tallest. He was sensitive to the heat and sensitive to the cold. He didn’t possess whatever energy reserves allowed Aomine to push past his limits when he needed to—not without fainting, anyway.

But something about Aomine’s rough edges fit comfortably against him, and maybe that was it. Where Kuroko had conviction, Aomine had nothing to speak of.

Maybe it didn’t matter why things worked, as long as they did.

-

He doesn’t pass out. But for a few minutes all he does is rest his head against Aomine’s chest and breathe slowly, until his heart stops hammering and the room stops spinning around him.

Aomine ruffles his hair, fingers combing through. “Tetsu. Need anything?”

Kuroko shakes his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Shouldn’t have let you overdo it,” Aomine mutters. “You’ve got a game soon.”

“I’ll be fine, Aomine-kun.”

“Hey, I’ll be pissed if you lose to Murasakibara cause _I_ wore you out.”

Kuroko sighs. He sits up carefully, supported by Aomine’s hand on the small of his back; he disposes of the condom, and tidies away the rest of Aomine’s supplies. “I won’t lose.” He folds his shirt and shorts and sets them on the bedside table. “But if I do, it won’t be because of this.”

“It better not be.”

Kuroko goes to Aomine’s dresser and picks out one of the few articles of clothing not on the floor, a plain t-shirt that seems to be in acceptable condition. “Do you mind if I wear this to sleep?”

Aomine rolls over and frowns. “Hey—that’s my clean shirt.”

“Do your laundry,” Kuroko says, pulling it on.

Aomine watches him smooth the shirt down; it nearly covers his thighs. “Heh. Cute.”

Kuroko flips off the light and finds his way back to the bed in the dark. “Move over, Aomine-kun.” He knows Aomine won’t get up and change; he’s happy to sleep nude. Aomine shifts to give him room, pulling up the blankets and wrapping an arm around Kuroko’s waist as soon as he’s settled in. “Are you feeling better?” Kuroko asks.

“Course,” Aomine says. He’s quiet; he rests his cheek against the top of Kuroko’s head, breath ruffling his hair. “M’serious about the game. Don’t lose. What you did for me, you can do it for everyone else if you beat him.” He doesn’t mean Murasakibara anymore. “That’s important to you, right?”

Kuroko closes his eyes.

“This was important.”

And so is the rest, but it comes later.  
-  
In the morning, he’ll wake up and he’ll find himself tangled up in all of Aomine’s limbs at once; Aomine sleeps like an octopus, and uses Kuroko like a body pillow. His hair will have imprinted on Aomine’s cheek, and they’ll both need to shower, and Aomine will want to kiss him under the water. They’ll need to eat, so they’ll eat together, in comfortable silence on opposite sides of the table.

Even later, Kuroko will need to practice, so Aomine will follow him back to the court and watch him shoot, over and over for as long as it takes.

But for a while, Kuroko will sit with Aomine’s ankles pressing against his feet underneath the table, and he’ll never forget what this feels like.


End file.
